


Violets and You

by LetThereBeDestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Also fluff, Alternate Universe - High School, Best Friends, M/M, Sarcasm, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, really it's all pretty sweet and very salty, rivalry (sort of), so much salt, spite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 13:37:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13682787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetThereBeDestiel/pseuds/LetThereBeDestiel
Summary: Dean and Cas are very much in love with each other, but neither of them will admit it. More so, each of them is waiting for the other one to confess. So when Valentine's Day comes around and they find out they both got each other gifts in hopes of the other admitting his affection, they get into a ridiculous spiral of passive aggressive gift-giving where each present is more romantic and cute than the last. Only neither of them is willing to give up, and thus the gift war goes on until one of them will surrender and admit his feelings.





	Violets and You

The art of staring is a delicate virtuosity.

You mustn’t blink, or look away. If your lip twitches, it can be perceived as a smile. And affection equals weakness. If you raise your eyebrow, he raises one back. And then his head tilts and his eyes narrow, looking at you as if you’re the most irritating mosquito in the world. And then you get lost in those two blue bottomless wells full of spite. In that sort of intense staring contest, you cannot allow yourself to get so hopefully lost in your contestant’s eyes. He will eat you alive. But if his eyes are just about the most lucid, most flawless thing you’ve ever stared into – then you can’t help but sink in them and let them drown you to death. In that case, you simply cannot afford to keep staring. So you look away, and embrace defeat. And decide that whatever present you’re about to receive, you will come up with one so much bigger, so much better, so much _sweeter,_ that he just won’t be able to help that tiny little smile that looks like it’s been made of sapphires sparkling in the sun. So spitefully romantic that he’ll get up from his seat and go to you and kiss you right there with twenty five students watching and it’ll be like The Princess Bride only with much shorter hair and without any horses. But otherwise perfect. Absolutely perfect.

He, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to think so as he gives you a victorious twist of the lips. He thinks he can beat you, that coward. That brilliant coward. But you will not fold. You’ll show him.

 

* * *

 

Six hours earlier, Dean walks into his homeroom class with jittery nerves, holding a wrapped-up bag of M&Ms with a little note that says ‘happy Valentine’s Day!’ in blue letters; not too romantic – in fact, not much romantic at all – but still something to make Cas feel a little bit special today.

He’s been friends with Cas for the last few years, had a massive crush on him – you know, the usual drill. What’s different than your regular high school crush story, though, is that Dean knows, he knows Cas likes him back. He can feel it in the way Cas looks at him, gives him the last of his fries at lunch or smiles at his God-awful jokes as if he’s listening to his favorite song. And he’s sure Cas has picked up on Dean liking him too – you really can’t miss the love in his eyes when he so much as watches Cas battling a droopy burrito.

It’s a match made in heaven; one narrow-eyed weirdo and his dorky idiot of a best friend. Only Dean can’t just go up and ask Cas out like some kind of idiot. What if despite his instincts, he’s wrong? He’s not even sure Cas has a full grasp on the concept of a romantic relationship.

And so they’ve been in this strange, awkward dance for the whole of senior year so far. And, well, maybe today something will change. Maybe Cas really likes M&Ms, so much that he’ll open Dean’s gift and take it as some sort of a love declaration.

With this thought Dean walks into the classroom, puffing his chest with as much confidence as he can gather. He walks straight to the table in the far right corner, forgetting to breathe as soon as his eyes catch the sight of the dark-haired head leaning over Cas’ book; rests the present on the table, watches Cas’ eyes light up before he even opened it. Then he recalls he should probably say something.

“S’not much,” he lets out, his voice still raspy with morning roughness.

_Real smooth, Winchester._

“Just thought you should have the full experience since, you know, you don’t have a…” Cas’ eyes flicker down to his lips and back onto his eyes, distracting him.

“…Date,” he finishes and clears his throat.

“Thank you,” Cas says quietly. He doesn’t open the gift. Instead, he reaches a hand into his bag and pulls out a little paper bag of his own. “I got you something, too.”

He puts it on the table in front of Dean and looks at him expectantly, only reaching for his own gift once Dean picks his up and hesitantly looks inside.

“An Aerosmith CD?” He blurts out, not in a thankful tone at all. It’s a much better gift than the one he came up with; Cas clearly doesn’t have the right idea of the correct ratio between the level of intimacy in a relationship and the greatness of the gift. And now he’s disappointed with Dean’s stupid gift – Dean is sure of that, until he looks at Cas and sees him holding his M&Ms with the same expectant expression as before. As though he’s waiting for Dean to do something, say something…

And then Dean gets it: Cas didn’t get him an over-the-top gift by mistake. Cas didn’t have much interest in his gift, because he was waiting for something else.

Cas had the same idea Dean did, and is looking up at him right now awaiting some kind of a confession.

 _Well, sorry to break it to ya, buddy,_ Dean mutters within his mind and grabs his paper bag with a clenched fist. _But you’re gonna have to try a lot harder than this if you wanna break me._

“Thanks for the album,” he says with narrowed eyes. Cas watches him go to his table with a wondering look.

“What was that about?” Asks the guy from the table behind Cas’, Balthazar.

“I have no idea,” he replies and lowers his eyes back to his book.

In the window beside him reflects a transparent image of his face, and on it, the faintest, slightest smile.

 

“Whatcha doin’?”

Castiel jumps in his chair. Leaning in behind him is a small, elf-like redhead known by many names.

“Writing,” he mutters, clearing his throat in an attempt to brush off the embarrassing fact that she obviously startled him. “You’ll scare someone to death with that quiet walk one day.”

“Good.” She grins and sits down in the empty seat beside him. “Whatcha writing?”

“The formula for an electromagnetic bomb,” he replies apathetically.

He might as well be, he thinks to himself.

“Is it for someone special?” She asks, her voice gooey. Finally, Cas drops his pen and looks at her.

“I don’t think you understand the purpose of-“

“I know what bombs do, Cas,” she lets out exasperatedly, throwing a hand in the air. “I asked, _is it for someone special?"_  The accentuated way in which she says it, twice, brings him to the conclusion that she already knows the answer to her question.

Cas sighs.

“Yes,” he reveals unwillingly. “Maybe.”

Charlie places her hands on the table excitedly. “I can help, you know. I’m like, the most lovable person you’ll find for miles.”

Cas narrows his eyes, examining her cheerful expression. “Did he send you to snoop?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She rests her chin in the palm of her hand. His frown deepens, and she shrugs.

As they talk, Cas spots Dean approaching his table for the second time today, his hands tucked behind his back and his lips pulled into a smile he’s trying to suppress.

He’s already managed to whip up another gift? It’s only the end of the second period. Cas purses his lips.

“Hello, Dean,” he says as Dean stands in front of them.

“Hey, Cas,” replies the buffoon with a grin. “You know, I was feeling really bad that you got me such an awesome gift,” he says, shifting his weight from one leg to another. Cas leans slightly to the left, trying to see what’s behind his back, but Dean rotates in a magnet-like response to his movement.

“So I wanted to return the favor,” he continues with half a shrug, as if saying, _it’s no big deal._ Then he pulls his hands from behind his back and presents Cas with a newspaper page, rolled into a cone. Cas takes it and looks inside – there's one rose, a violet, and a lemon resting in it. He looks up at Dean, bemused.

“There’s a card,” Dean explains, rising onto his toes expectantly. Given a second look, there is a card. The outside of it is a soft pink color, with printed white letters reading _JUST FOR YOU!_ in a big red heart in the middle of the page. Inside it, there’s Dean’s handwriting.

_Roses are red,_

_Violets are blue._

_Lemons are sour,_

_And so are you._

Cas reads the poem slowly, his lips pressing hard together, as Charlie leans in behind his shoulder and whispers, “Gosh, that’s so sweet.”

“Really, I just wanted to thank you for the CD,” Dean says above them, his tone filled with satisfaction. “So now we’re even. Unless…” He trails off. Cas looks up at him, almost dropping the card when he meets Dean’s intense gaze.

God damn these beautiful green eyes and every freckle between them.

“…Unless there’s something you wanna tell me,” Dean finishes, his voice faltering. He blinks a couple times, as if trying to regain the train of thoughts he seemed to have lost.

Cas shakes his head slowly, unable to tear his eyes from Dean’s face as Dean’s lips part slightly.

“No,” he says, clearing his throat, and grabs the flowers with his free hand to stop it from reaching out towards Dean’s fingers. He forces his eyes down, puts the card back inside the cone and says, “thank you for the thank you present.”

Dean nods stiffly and turns to leave.

He probably just imagined it, but Cas thinks he saw Dean’s eyes narrow right before he turned away.

“What was that?” Charlie asks once Dean is gone. “God, you two are way more into this than I thought. He looked like he wanted to knife you and sing you a love song at the same time.”

“A matter of time,” Cas replies, watching Dean go. A matter of time is what it is.

As he looks at her, an idea starts to form in his mind.

“Charlie.”

"Hm?" She looks at him.

“You said you could help?”

 

If looks could make you confess your undying love towards another, Cas would be kneeling in front of Dean and quoting Shakespeare by now; he can see it in Dean’s eyes.

It’s the middle of fourth period, and neither of them is about to give up. More than that – ever since physics class began and Cas caught Dean staring at him, they’ve been caught in this stupid staring contest which neither of them was willing to lose in. Dean had raised his eyebrow spitefully, and Cas had returned the gesture with a squint and a head tilt that he knew Dean would find hard to resist. Now, as expected, Dean seems pretty damn smitten, and Cas knows he’s getting lost in his own overthinking mind. Then he looks away, and Cas can’t help a small, triumphant smile. He has the upper hand, for now.

The bell rings, and Cas spots Dean glancing at him briefly before standing up and gathering his things, while the rest of the students rise up and hurry out the door in a jumble of excitement and relief.

Cas stays in his seat.

After a moment’s waiting, Charlie shows up at his desk with a thick, rolled up sheet of paper.

“It’s done,” she tells him, discreet yet definite. She sounds a bit too much like the mafia men in the movies Dean shows him, Cas feels, but he just gives her a sharp nod; there’s no time to waste.

“Can I see it?”

She glances around, revealing the poster only after she spots Dean standing by his desk. Cas gives it a thorough examination, his forehead creasing.

“What… is that?”

“It’s the two of you,” Charlie grins and looks at her creation proudly. "In the form of a very specific animated film.”

Cas examines the drawing for a moment longer. He doesn’t recognize the movie, nor does he understand where all the hair is coming from, but that’s not what he’s most confused about.

“What exactly is the, uh… the nature of the relationship between these characters in the movie?”

Charlie’s eyes move to rest on his face and her grin widens.

“Oh, you’ll see it on his face,” she says, and with that unsettling exclamation she pats his shoulder and leaves him with the poster.

Cas sighs and glances around the room; the last of the students is just about to leave, fetching his bag from his chair and swinging it on one shoulder.

“Dean,” Cas stops him, and he halts in place in an abrupt movement.

“Do you have a moment?” Cas asks, crossing the room towards him with the rolled up poster in his hand.

“For you?” Dean says and lifts an eyebrow with a smirk that makes Cas’ cheeks burn. “Always.”

_Tease._

“What is it?” Dean asks in a bit of a strained casualness, eyeing the sheet in Cas’ hand.

“Well, after you – very kindly – gave me a thank you gift, I started thinking, maybe my last present wasn’t quite… personal enough.”

“Oh, it was,” Dean hurries. “More than personal. Really, great. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“Great, then,” Cas flashes one of his rare grins, noting the way Dean’s stare falls to his lips and rises back to his eyes. “Because I’ve got another one.”

As Dean’s eyes grow wide with anguish Cas hands him the merchandise, staring at him until he accepts it with a sigh. His tormented expression softens into surprise and confusion as he reveals the artwork, though. His eyebrows pull close together, and he lets out one befuddled word.

“Tangled?”

Cas clears his throat. “I just told Charlie to draw whatever reminds her of us,” he recites offhandedly. A touch dramatic, but otherwise strictly authentic. “I didn’t even check what it was,” he goes on smoothly; well, does having seen something really count if you didn’t understand whatsoever what you saw? He leans closer to Dean now, taking a look at Charlie’s richly colored art. “Oh, look at that. We’re very close to each other.”

Dean takes a look at him, as bewildered as a buffalo baby that just made its first step.

“That’s amazing,” he says quietly and lets out a short huff.

“It’s no big deal, really,” Cas assures him and looks away to hide the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. It’s a big freaking deal, of course. It’s the best gift ever.

After all the time and effort he spent on their weird, intense contest today he’s still not quite sure what exactly they’re fighting for, but he’s beginning to be damn confident he’s winning. By far.

“What are you talking about? This is huge,” Dean says, but Cas shakes his head.

“It’s nothing.” Yes, yes it is huge. Absolutely nothing Dean will pull off can top that.

 _Just give up,_ he sighs to Dean within his own mind, as they both look at the strange reflection of them staring back from the paper, faces so close together that their shoulders must be touching behind all that golden hair. _Just admit it._

And again, as Dean stands beside him all tall and beaming and wide eyed, he can barely stop himself from swaying his arm just slightly enough to feel the back of Dean’s hand against his own.

He watches Dean's eyes examine the page, as if they're searching for a breach in enemy lines. And for a moment, he forgets about everything in the world except for the two of them. 

"I was sure she'd draw us like those guys from that show, we look almost exactly like them..." He says in a low voice, trailing off knowing that Dean will understand. It's one of those shows about road trips and family issues that he hates so much. 

“Supernatural?” Dean asks distractedly, his eyes still on his present. His voice is soft and quiet, his lips parting slightly after he utters the word.

“Yes.”

“Yeah,” Dean replies without looking up. “That’d be more fitting.”

He looks up, meets Cas’ eyes with a smile, doesn’t let go.

“I’m wasting your break,” Cas says, not looking away. He doesn’t think it’s humanly possible to look away from that stare. That muted spark that keeps them locked in this dance, always trying to break free and at the same time never willing to let go.

Maybe if he were some celestial being he’d be able to lower his eyes to the floor. Maybe some divine powers would give him the strength to take a step back – and then two steps forward, and one more back. Keep up with the dance.

In the end, Dean is the one to let go.

“...Right,” he says, in regards to something Cas doesn’t remember having said. “Tell Charlie I said thanks.” And with that, he walks away.

You can’t ever know with these things, can’t ever tell for sure; but as far as every instinct Cas has tells him – if he ran after Dean right now, if he could just make him listen, he might have had a chance to end this on another note. A better one.

Wishful thinking.

Anyway, he walks back to his chair. He grabs his bag and his coat, and walks out of the empty classroom. Maybe in a few months he’ll be braver. Maybe next year he’ll have better luck. Or maybe he won't.

 

“Charlie, there's no point,” Cas sighs. He lets his bag drop onto the floor carefully and plummets into a chair himself, his breath starting to stabilize gradually. “I tried everything.”

“Everything except running to the supermarket that’s nine minutes away in a twenty minutes lunch break and buying a ridiculously expensive pack of chocolates,” Kevin pants as the three-people party around Cas takes their seats.

“Or actually _talking to him about your feelings,_ ” Jo rants.

“Why do I hear judgement in your voice?” Charlie squints at Kevin. “If my clock is synced – and it is – we still have three minutes till class.”

“After we ran all the way, for both ways!”

“And Jo-" she ignores him "-even if you put the two of them in a locked room for hours trying to make them talk about their _‘feelings’_ , they’ll just end up staring at one another intensely like some kind of idiots. Believe me, I tried.”

“Can we _not_ bring up Dean’s birthday party for just one conversation-“ Cas starts, but Charlie shushes him promptly.

“He’s here!”

Indeed, in the door walks Dean, holding a big box covered by a cloth.

"Give it to him,” Charlie urges. “Just… do it.” She looks him in the eye deliberately, as if trying to hypnotize him into following her orders.

For a moment, he’s almost convinced. It’s really shaping up to be one of those now-or-never situations – things have always been good around Dean and him until recently, when they started getting more and more tense around each other. And now they finally reached the peak, and it’s all or nothing, because if nothing happens when it’s so intense that they can hardly breathe around each other, there’s no way it’ll happen when they’re back to their usual roles; just friends, going through the motions of an almost-but-didn’t relationship.

“Do it,” Charlie hisses at Cas, so passionate that you’d think it’s her eternal happiness that’s on the line. “You won’t have another chance.”

Behind her, though, something is rapidly coming their way.

“I... don’t think that’s necessarily accurate,” Cas tells her. Less than a second later, he swears, Dean arrives at their table with his mysterious box. He doesn’t do a thing but put the box on Cas’ table with a thump, careful but very decisive. In his eyes is something so intense that he seems to only barely have a secure hold of it that keeps it from lashing out and lighting something on fire. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look at anyone but Cas, for just a brief second. Then he walks away.

Cas’ eyes don’t leave Dean’s back as he goes. He swallows, almost hurt by Dean’s behavior. It doesn’t feel like a game anymore; it just feels like Dean is acting accordingly to how he feels.

By Cas’ table, someone lifts the sheet of fabric that’s on Dean’s box, and his three friends simultaneously jerk away from it. He looks down slowly, hears the soft buzz under the loud and panicked babble that’s spreading across the classroom.

A beehive.

Dean has somehow, over a twenty minutes' lunchbreak, managed to get him a beehive. He looks closely at the little creatures fluttering around in the box, and something in his heart shatters.

Someone touches his arm. He looks at it, finding Charlie’s hand resting there. In her eyes are a mixture of terror and plea.

“That’s the most fucked up gift I’ve ever seen,” Jo says apathetically.

“And romantic,” Charlie adds in a forced voice, although she seems to be fighting herself to not move away when one bee breaks free and flies towards her fiery red hair. “...Romantically fucked up.”

Kevin, as much as everyone else in the room, just stares at the bees disbelievingly.

“So... what are you waiting for?” He hears Jo’s voice.

He takes a breath.

“Dean.”

Although the sound is no more than a mutter inside the gabble of noises, Dean turns around. Cas yanks the big heart-shaped box from his bag and stumbles into the middle of the classroom, towards him.

“This is for you,” he says halfheartedly. Dean takes the box in his hands and furrows his brows at it. It doesn’t feel like he’ll enjoy it anymore, so what’s the point?

Cas has no answer. He's starting to regret it already, but...

“I’m sick of it,” Dean grumbles, blinking at the chocolates. He looks up at Cas’ blank expression, which only seems to make the fire in his eyes stronger.

“That is it,” he grits his teeth at Cas, waving the box in the air. The little sugary delights inside rattle as they toss around inside the package. “Admit that you like me! Admit it!” He’s pointing the box in Cas’ direction now, looking at him with the wrath of about four suns.

This has crossed every line. Dean isn’t taunting anymore, isn’t flashing a smile and joking around. The look in his eyes isn’t playful or challenging. It’s bitter and honest and, Cas notes to himself dismally, full of pain. Dean is waiting for him to spit out a confession, but for what purpose, exactly? So he can say he won the fight? Because in no way Cas can see their relationship building up into something beautiful and happy and different now.

So he takes in a shallow breath and risks burning himself as he looks into Dean’s eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says flatly. He can hear Dean’s teeth grit harder. They stand there for a long moment, neither of them able to tell whether the whole class is staring at them or if everyone left or if the entire world has been consumed by the forces of a magical queen of ice.

“Thank you,” Dean lets out finally, in the most candid tone he’d spoken in today. “...For everything.”

He turns around and goes back to his seat, leaving Cas behind with a lump in his throat. His breathing stops.

Dean’s words feel like a goodbye.

He walks back to his seat stiffly. Someone has put his bees on the windowsill next to his seat. He hears a teacher speaking, but he can’t tell what she’s saying or how long has she been standing there for.

He doesn’t look at his friends’ faces, but the silence around him sounds more than disappointed. He feels Charlie’s hand moving in comforting circles on his back.

"You guys are like an unstoppable force and an immovable object at an infinity war," she whispers glumly. She doesn’t go into details, but Cas thinks he understands.

Destructive.

That sounds about right. He’d dreamed of a different kind of life with Dean, a life where there aren’t any sweet presents and grand gestures and bees, but there isn’t any yelling and bitterness either. A life where he could make Dean smile by telling a bad joke whenever he wanted, without that shadow that he saw behind the green whenever Dean looked at him these days. A life where he could hold Dean’s hand for as long as he wanted. But maybe Charlie is right. Maybe they just can’t exist together, maybe the combination is just too much. Some things aren’t as they seem. Perhaps it’s true that he never gets sick of hearing Dean laugh now, but once they get together, it’ll just go stale. Whatever it is that makes Dean’s eyes beam when Cas walks in the room every morning, will probably disappear as soon as they start going steady and get sick of each other.

That’s how life works, isn’t it? Surely, it is. There’s nothing more to it.

“Winchester,” sounds a bark from the front of the class. Cas’ eyes jump up instinctively, slightly quicker than everyone else’s, and his stare travels to the other side of the classroom.

“Cut it out,” Ms. MacLeod orders. Dean is looking up at her, swallowing what appears to be a chunk of at least four chocolates that he’s been chewing.

“No,” he sighs. Some students laugh, but the rumble that spreads around the room is mostly concerned.

“Then get out,” the teacher retorts sharply. Dean stares at her, then stands up and gathers his things.

“You’ll never find love, you old hag,” he says as he passes by her on his way out.

“Oh my god,” Charlie lets out quietly, her hand falling to her lap.

“He is so expelled,” Jo grumbles.

Nobody looks at Cas.

Nobody expects him to run after Dean anymore, like they’d done all day. Not even Dean himself, he’s sure.

And that’s where their logic falls through. Because huge, furious burst-out or not, he still cares about Dean more than he cares for all of humanity, combined.

He stands up.

“Castiel, if you take one step toward this door-“

“Go to Hell, Rowena,” he shoots as he crosses the room. “They’d love to have you back.”

There’s nothing but silence behind him, until he hears Jo’s voice mutter, “They are both so expelled.”

He leaves the room.

In the hall, he looks around and locates Dean turning round the corner to the stairs.

“Leave me alone, Charlie,” Dean calls out as he hears the footsteps hurrying after him. “I’ll be fine. I just hate history.”

“Not like you’ve never blamed a teacher for witchery before.”

Dean freezes.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten ninth grade,” Cas says softly as he finally catches up to Dean, short of breath. Dean turns to look at him.

“I haven’t.”

He doesn’t look angry anymore – just sad.

“Dean, I’m sorry-“

“No need for pity, Cas,” he sighs with a shrug. His backpack, clutched in his right hand, swings around with the motion. “As I said, I’m fine.”

“It’s not pity,” Cas says quietly. “It’s regret.” There’s so much he wants to say, to try and make Dean see how helpless he feels, but he just can't gather his words into the right pattern.

Dean’s expression shifts, one corner of his mouth rising into the ghost of a smile. “Your eyebrows are doing the... the thing.”

Cas’ forehead creases, and Dean’s smile rises from the dead.

And the tension is gone.

All the anger, the frustration and the fire. The rush and the anticipation. Dean is Dean again, and Cas is just himself. No eyebrow lifting and intense stares that make Cas’ stomach turn. Just the kind look in Dean’s eyes that makes him feel like home again.

Without saying a word, he puts a hand at the back of Dean’s neck, sinks his fingertips into Dean's hair. He leans in, pulling Dean closer, and kisses him softly.

There’s a quiet _thump_ when Dean’s bag drops onto the floor and his hands rise to wrap around Cas’ waist, clutching at his T-shirt as Cas pushes him backwards gently until his back hits the wall.

“What thing?” Cas whispers as their lips part. Dean takes a moment to recall what he was saying; he doesn’t look particularly overwhelmed or smitten, like they do in the movies, but slightly disoriented, and tired, and mostly like he’s enjoying a sun ray on his skin on a Sunday morning.

“That thing, when you’re confused,” he explains, unable to hold back a smile. That doesn’t really clarify anything for Cas, but he lets it go as Dean rests a hand on his face.

“Will you stop smiling as if you just won some kind of prize?” Cas asks, frowning as Dean shakes his head decisively with his smile still intact. “Considering how big of a jerk I’ve been today, I really don’t think I deserve it.”

“Oh, I think we both deserve each other alright,” Dean grins, irony tinging his tone. Nonetheless, he tightens his grip around Cas’ waist. “Whatever it was today, let’s not ever do it again.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cas lets out with a small smile, and Dean slams his forehead against Cas’ shoulder.

“Cheap shot, idiot.”

“Of all the things I’ve done today, this is what bothers you...” He trails off with a sigh. “Let’s go home.”

Dean nods, and grabs his hand. Neither of them mentions Cas’ bag – and beehive – being left behind, but Cas is pretty sure Charlie will be as kind as keeping them safe until tomorrow. When Dean tugs at his hand, he follows.

He wants to protest as Dean looks over at him with that stupid, warm smile that won’t go away, but he doesn’t. Instead, he says,

“We are in so much trouble for insulting Rowena.”

And Dean’s smile widens, and he pulls Cas closer by the hand, and he says,

“So much fuckin’ trouble.”


End file.
